


Cherry

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim discovers that Blair's tongue has a special talent, and wonders what *else* it can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry

## Cherry

by Mona Ramsey

* * *

"Cherry"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

Blair juggled the three bags of groceries, an overloaded backpack, and still managed to fish the housekeys out of his right coat pocket without dropping anything. He wondered to himself what it was about human nature that refused to even consider making trips in a situation like this. Maybe it was a holdover from primal days, something Darwinian - the more bags you carried, the more agile you were, the easier to attract a mate. 

Nah. Probably just a guy thing. 

He swung the apartment door open, seeing that the lights on and hearing the television. Jim was on the couch, watching tv. "Oh, don't get up," Blair said, sarcastically. 

Jim looked over at him, grinning. "Wasn't planning on it." 

Blair wrinkled his nose. _One_ time, _one_ time he'd sat there and finished the page he was writing on his paper rather than getting up and giving the big guy a hand with something, _one_ time _three_ years ago, and he was still paying for it. 

"Lummox," Blair said, under his breath, kicking the door closed with his foot. Definitely a guy thing. He still couldn't put any of the bags down until they were where they were supposed to be. 

Jim stood up and walked over, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "I heard that." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "You hear everything, Jim. I think sometimes that you hear what I'm thinking." 

"Only when you're thinking loud." 

Blair nodded. "And I do that when - ?" 

Jim ticked off. "When you're working on a really important lecture," he said, "running through something for a case we're working on, or concocting some half-baked Sentinel test." 

"Half-baked?" 

"You have to admit the one with the cottonballs and the whipped cream was _not_ your finest moment, Chief." 

"I still say it would have worked if the wind hadn't shifted," Blair protested. 

"Right." Jim craned his neck, still not working. "What'd you get?" 

"Good stuff," Blair grinned. "Veggies, whole wheat bread, fruit - " 

"Steak?" 

"Tofu. Bean sprouts. Kiwi. Food of the gods." 

"Beer?" 

"Beer," Blair allowed, pulling out a six-pack and popping off a can. He tossed it to Jim, who air-kissed him and went happily back to the couch. 

Blair shook his head and went back to unpacking the groceries. Next week it was Jim's turn as domestic goddess, and he'd be damned if he even got _off_ the couch. "Neanderthal." 

"I heard - " Jim called out. 

"I know, I know." 

* * *

"So, what's on?" Blair asked. He set the freshly washed bowl of fruit down on the coffee table and plopped down on the couch next to Jim. Lately, they'd both gotten hooked on this completely dreadful public-access station. Whether it was the eighty-six-year-old tai chi mistress or the dog-walking hour, they watched. Weekends it tended to get a little raunchier. 

"Cyndi," Jim said, in a hushed voice. 

"Ah." 'Cyndi' hosted a call-in sex show with two other, um, 'young ladies'. They all appeared to be in their mid-to-late twenties and wore alarmingly skimpy Victoria's Secret lingerie on the air. Blair assumed the studio lights must be _really_ hot, if their outfits were any indication. 

They _also_ demonstrated a lot of the sexual techniques that their range of callers phoned in to inquire about. It verged on the very cusp of soft-core porn - titillating and yet somehow wholesome, since you didn't actually _see_ anything except pretty girls prancing around in their underwear. 

"Anything good?" 

"You missed the proper-position-for-spooning demo," Jim said. 

Blair frowned. "With Missy or Karen?" 

Jim's eyes glazed a little. "Missy." 

Missy was the brunette, Karen the blonde. Apparently Jim had a thing for the darker-haired beauties on the show. There was something about Missy. . .long, curly hair, full lips. Blair couldn't fault the big guy his taste. 

"Maybe they'll do it again," Blair said, hopefully. He reached for a handful of grapes. "Fruit?" 

"Mmm," Jim said, not listening to him. 

Blair sighed. There really wasn't any point in talking through this show. It had to be fully experienced. 

* * *

Several calls later, a young-sounding girl called in inquiring about the 'cherry-stem' technique. Karen offered to give a demo, proving on-camera that she was an expert at tongue manipulation. 

"I can do that," Blair said, reaching into the fruit bowl again. 

"Mm?" Jim had his head cocked a little to the side, wondering if he shifted the position of the tv - "What did you say?" 

"When?" 

"Just now." 

Blair thought a moment. "Oh, that I can do that?" 

Jim looked at him. "You can do _that_?" 

Blair nodded. "Uh-huh." 

Jim looked distinctly skeptical. "Tie a cherry stem with your tongue?" 

"Yes." Blair grinned at him. "It isn't that hard, Jim." He rummaged through the fruit bowl and pulled out a cherry, biting the ripe fruit off the stem and eating it. "You just have to work the stem with your teeth - you know, suck on it - until it gets soft." He did so. "And then," he said, his words a little muffled around the stem, "you hold one end with your teeth, and sort of twirl the other end around with your tongue, and then push it through, and twist it and then pull, and - " He pulled the stem out and laid it on his palm. "See? Tied. Piece of cake." 

Jim was staring at it. 

"It's easier if you have a long one, but it can be done with a littler - " Blair cut himself off. "Jim?" 

Jim was still staring at the cherry stem. 

"Jim? Jim? _Jim_? Oh, man - " 

Jim was totally zoned. Blair had never seen it happen like that before - he usually zoned out on major psychological or sensory events. Surely just tying a little cherry stem wouldn't - 

"Jim!" Blair put the stem down, out of Jim's line of sight, and started talking to him. "Jim, listen to me. Come back, big guy. Listen to my voice. You're zoning, and you need to concentrate and come back to me. Come on, Jim." 

* * *

It took a few minutes, but eventually Jim blinked. "What happened?" 

"You were _gone_ , man," Blair said, shaking his head. "Why don't you tell _me_ what happened?" He took a pull off his beer. 

"I don't rememb- " Jim stared at Blair, licking the sweat off of the can before it dripped down on his pants. "Oh." 

"What?" 

"You were - " Jim flushed, and grabbed his beer. "Never mind." 

"I was what, Jim? If you zoned on something that _I_ did, you need to tell me what it is so I can try not to do it again." 

"No, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." Jim stood up, and walked into the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?" 

"It's my turn to cook, Jim," Blair said, following on his heels. "Don't just brush me off like this. I thought we were working together on this Sentinel stuff, remember? If I don't know what's going on, I can't help you. Now, it started out when I was showing you how to tie a cherry stem. When I was done, you were gone. What were you thinking?" 

"I'd _really_ rather not talk about this, Chief," Jim said, starting to get a little angry. 

Blair pushed him. "I would. Tell me." 

" _Chief_." 

" _Jim_. If you want to go alpha-male to alpha-male on this, I'll meet you halfway and you know it. You'd might as well spill it now." 

"Okay, fine." Jim slammed his beer can down on the counter, and grabbed Blair by the arms. "I was watching you, and then when you pulled that damned stem out of your mouth, tied, I was wondering - just _what else_ can he do with that tongue that I don't know about?!" 

Blair stood there, gaping at him, mouth open, no words coming out. Jim didn't think he'd ever seen his partner with a more stunned expression on his face, nor could he remember a time when Blair had ever been tongue-tied. A smile came over his face. /Good choice of words./ 

Then he leaned over and kissed that open mouth. 

* * *

Jim reached into the fruit bowl. Empty. "Is there any more?" 

"Mm?" 

Jim smiled. Blair was sitting on the corner of the couch. He moved every once in a while, to pick up or put down his beer can. He didn't seem to realize that he'd emptied it about fifteen minutes before; at least, he didn't _remember_ , until he'd pick it up and start to drink, and then realize, and then put it down, only to pick it up again a minute later. Jim had almost gotten to the point where he'd take pity on the poor guy and get him another. 

He was a little _too_ happy, though. Finally, he'd _finally_ kissed Blair. And he'd liked it. Now he was waiting for the verdict from the other set of lips involved. 

"More fruit?" 

"What?" 

Jim bit his lip. "Is - there - any - more - fruit?" 

"In the bowl," Blair said, staring at him. 

Jim waved the empty bowl in front of his face. "Blair, we ate it all." 

"Oh." Blair stared at the bowl. "I'll get some more." 

He stood up and took the bowl out of Jim's hands, taking it to the kitchen. Then he went and put his boots on and reached for his coat. 

Jim stopped him as he was zipping it up. "Chief, where are you going?" 

"The store. Fruit," Blair said. 

Jim chuckled. "It isn't that important, Blair," he said, gently, unzipping Blair's coat and pulling it off. 

"No. You want fruit. I'm going to get you some." 

"Blair, take your boots off." 

"But - " 

"Blair." 

Blair chewed the inside of his lip, then reached down and pulled off his boots. 

Jim led him by the hand like a very small child over to the couch and sat him down. "Blair - " 

"Don't." 

"I wasn't doing anything," Jim said, surprised. 

"You were going to say something. If you don't say anything, then it didn't happen." 

Jim leaned back. "So you didn't want it to happen." 

"I didn't say that." 

"You as good as did, Blair," Jim said, soberly. "Okay, I can do this. It won't happen again." 

"But I don't want that either!" 

"So what _do_ you want?" 

"I want us to go back the way we were, before I came home. You know - partners, roommates, friends. If we do - if we - _you know_ \- then that will all change." 

"It doesn't have to - " 

"Oh, you know better than that!" Blair said, standing up and going into full rant-mode. "I do _not_ do relationships well. I can barely make it two weeks with a girlfriend, and you're asking me to give up the best friend I've ever had for two weeks of incredible sex? No. I won't. I refuse." 

"We don't _have_ to have incredible sex," Jim said, biting his lip again. 

"Oh, but we will! It will be incredible and I won't ever want to _stop_ having it, and then when we _do_ stop having it, then I'll just have to jump off a bridge or something." He sat down, thoroughly miserable. Even his curls were less bouncy. "And Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"I don't want to jump off a bridge." 

"Well, Chief, I don't want you to, either." Jim took a chance, moving just a teeny bit closer to him on the couch. When he didn't shy away, he took the chance and put a hand on Blair's arm. "You don't have to, you know." 

Blair nodded. "I will. Just wait." 

"If we didn't _stop_ having incredible sex, then there would be no reason for you to jump, Blair." 

Blair looked skeptical. "You think?" 

Jim moved a little closer. "It's entirely possible." 

"But - " 

"Blair - " Jim was practically on top of him. 

"Mm?" 

"Shup up and let's have incredible sex." 

So they did. 

The End  
MonaR. 


End file.
